


Some Nights

by phdmama



Series: Feels Like Coming Home [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Depression, Drug Use, Feels Like Coming Home, Other, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Rock Bottom - Freeform, Timestamp, assault (not graphic but definitely there), it really does have a hopeful ending, wow this sounds really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: PLEASE READ!!This is a timestamp forFeels Like Coming  Homefrom Louis’ POV, and describes the events that Louis talks about with Harry at breakfast, which arethecatalyst for Louis changing his life. There is frank talk about drug use, alcohol use, and violence, as well as depressed thoughts and passive suicidal ideation. If you haven’t read Feels Like Coming Home, you might want to, in order to see where this journey takes Louis! Please do not read if you think this will be triggering or too upsetting for you! Stay safe, lovelies!





	Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge. We each select random numbers and are given a specific emotion from the book _1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names._ To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works), or you can find the masterpost on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).
> 
> This fic was inspired by the following challenge: **911\. The hope that this void within you will fill again.**
> 
> This is a work of fiction, meant only to entertain. Please do not break the 4th wall or post this fic anywhere else! 
> 
> As always, the words are mine, as are the errors.

 

 _Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck  
_ _Some nights, I call it a draw..._

 

**December 24, 2014**

Louis rolls over slowly, the pounding in his head letting him know that opening his eyes at this time would be a mistake. It’s a mistake he is forced to make a moment later as his stomach lurches, sending him stumbling to the bathroom to hunch over the toilet, coughing and retching as the aftermath of the night before hits him. When he finally deems it safe to pull away, he slumps over onto the bathmat, noting the accumulation of dust and grime in the corners of the room and under the sink. He really ought to clean, he thinks, exhausted just by the idea of it. _Maybe later_ , he tells himself. He’ll feel better later.

It’s Wednesday, a day he’d normally be at work. Christmas Eve isn’t a holiday for adults working hourly wage jobs. He would be at work, that is, if he still had a job to go to, but after last week’s debacle, he’d been informed by his manager that his services are “no longer required.”

 _Whatever_ , Louis thinks angrily to himself. _It was just a stupid bartending gig anyway_. The only good part had been the access to top-shelf liquor. In any case, no one is hiring on Christmas and his rent is paid through the end of the month, so he’ll worry about finding a new job in the new year. He hasn’t been sober in days now; with no job to keep him in check, he hasn’t been able to see the point. He’s pretty sure he should be concerned about this, but he can’t find it within himself to care. The booze and the weed help him stay afloat, help stop the desperate roaring in his head that he’s doing his best to ignore. _But you’re not really staying afloat, are you,_ a little voice inside him whispers, _from here it looks like you’re drowning._

After a long time spent with his face pressed against the chill of the tub, trying to quell the shaking in his hands, he pulls himself to standing. As he brushes his teeth, he winces, glancing at himself in the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks hollow, and the deep purple bags under his eyes attest to the lack of sleep he’s been getting. Mechanically, he spits, rinses, sets his toothbrush down. He gives himself one last look in the mirror.

“Happy birthday, asshole,” he mutters as he turns away.

The day drags on. He’d had a stupid, almost optimistic feeling that maybe Harry would reach out, but his phone stays quiet, mocking him with its silence. His mother sends him a text, telling him she misses him, asking him to call so they can sing Happy Birthday, but it hurts too much to look at, and he quickly deletes it. He feels anxious, the nerves under his skin crawling with sick anticipation, but for what, he can’t say.

Finally, he can’t stand the silence in the apartment or his own company any longer. He sends Cal and Oli a quick text, shoving away the flicker of hurt that neither seemed to have remembered his birthday.

**Headed to TT’s, feel free to come hang if you’re around.**

He walks into the bar and, as always, the press of the crowd and the heavy throb of the bass silence the noise in his head, soothe the itch in his bones. It isn’t as crowded as usual, but then again, Christmas Eve isn’t typically a big party night. Most people have somewhere else to be. Louis resolutely pushes away memories of family gatherings and cakes made by a green-eyed boy, and heads over to the bar. Whatever, he’s an adult now, he doesn’t need those things anymore.

He orders two shots of Jack, and quickly downs first one, then the other, and then asks for a beer, ignoring the appraising look on John the bartender’s face, a guy he’s chatted with many a night. He turns his back to the bar, surveying the room as he drinks quickly. His phone stays silent in his pocket as he heads to the dance floor.

Two hours later, he’s back at the bar, breathless and sweaty from dancing, enjoy the press of another man’s body against his own as he attempts to order a shot. His sixth? Seventh? He can’t remember, things started going blurry a while ago. He also can’t remember the guy’s name. Don? Derrick? Not that it really matters, he knows where this has been heading since the guy approached him on the dance floor. He waves to John, who just shakes his head at him.

“No can do, man,” John says, his tone kind but implacable,  “You’ve had enough, gotta cut you off.”

“What?” Louis is outraged, “Thas’ r’diculous, what th’ fuck?”

“Louis,” John sighs and wipes down the bar in front of him, “You should go home, man. You’re wasted, you shouldn’t be here. Where’s Cal and Oli?”

Louis shrugs, neither of them had responded to his text, and he’d stopped checking an hour ago. “Dunno,” he says sullenly.

John shakes his head and says gently, “It’s Christmas, Louis, you should go home.”

Louis opens his mouth to protest, to tell him, _no, it’s not Christmas yet, it’s my birthday today,_ but lets the words stay silent on his tongue. John doesn’t care, he reminds himself, no one cares that it’s not Christmas yet, that it’s his birthday, and here he is, alone in a bar with no one to celebrate with. Pathetic.

“Hey,” says the guy he’d been grinding on who is still pressed up against him, “We could get out of here, go back to yours.” He leans in closer, running his hand down over Louis' lower back and curving around his ass, whispering in Louis’ ear, “I’ve got some C, man. Some good stuff that’ll blow away your Christmas blues, no pun intended.”

Louis blinks at him blearily. In the low light of the bar, the guy looks okay, not much taller than Louis himself, brown eyes, long dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. _Not entirely alone,_ he thinks.  “Wha’s your name again?”

“Dave,” the man says. He grabs Louis’ hand and tugs, heading towards the door.

Ignoring John’s concerned, “Louis, are you sure?”, Louis follows him out of the club.

They stumble their way back to Louis’ fourth floor walkup, Dave leaning in to kiss his neck as he fumbles with the lock. “C’mon man, get inside,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking hot, I’ve been checking you out for ages, but you were always with those other guys. They never let me get near you.”

Drunk, Louis snickers at the idea of Cal and Oli standing as his protectors. “Well,” he says. “Guess it’s your lucky night.”

Dave drops onto the couch and gives the coffee table a dubious look. He rummages through the pile of mail that’s been sitting there for weeks, and finally pulls out a glossy pamphlet from Louis’ insurance company, with the words, ironically enough, “Wellness and You” written in large, cheery letters across the cover. He pulls out a small baggie with some white powder, his driver’s license, and a short straw.

Heart pounding, Louis drops onto the couch next to him, setting his blank and silent phone down on the coffee table. Until now, he’s limited his indulgences to alcohol and weed, and trying coke had always seemed like a line he didn’t want to cross, but now?  He glances at the phone in front of him. No calls. No texts. _Fuck it,_ he thinks angrily, _nothing fucking matters anymore anyway, so fuck it all,_ and when Dave hands him the magazine and the straw, he leans over and inhales.

Whoa. _Whoa._ Louis feels a rush to his head, a flush of something that could almost be confused with happiness as his heart rate picks up even further, and he can feel his blood rushing through his veins. He stares down at his hands, entranced, and then realizes that Dave is leaning into him, kissing him insistently on the neck.

It feels good, sort of, and Louis tilts his head to one side, shifting himself around to give Dave better access. It’s been a few weeks since he’s hooked up with anyone, and his cock perks up half-heartedly as Dave works his way across Louis’ jaw and kisses him on the mouth. But as they kiss, a growing sense of _wrongness_ fills Louis. It just doesn’t feel right. The lips pressed against his own are too thin, the beard a distraction, the body leaning into him is the wrong size, the wrong shape.

He tries to get into it, reminding himself that Harry had fucked off to Boston months ago, leaving him alone, leaving him to this. Harry had left him and he isn’t coming back. Louis is a free agent, man. He can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.

After several minutes, though, Louis knows. It isn’t going to happen. Although Dave’s got his hand on his cock, palming him through his jeans, Louis is not even half-way to hard.

He pulls back and says, “M’sorry, man. I’m just not feeling it.”

Dave looks at him and his eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Louis moves to stand up and starts as Dave shoves him back against the couch. “I said, I’m not feeling it, you need to go.” His heart races as Dave pins him to the couch.

“I’m not fucking going anywhere,” Dave says angrily. “I came here to get laid. You did my blow, you fucking owe me, man.”

Louis starts pushing back in earnest, his breath coming faster. “Fuck you, man. I don’t owe you anything.” He slaps Dave’s arms away, and then, things explode.

Later, Louis will never be able to piece together how it all goes down: Dave grabbing him, him flailing frantically under the other man’s body, his elbow connecting with Dave’s face, Dave’s howl of rage, blood smearing across his mouth, his arm winding up and pain exploding through Louis’ head.

Louis collapses back onto the couch as Dave stands angrily, wiping the blood from his face. “Fuck you, man, and fuck this shit. I’m out of here.” He grabs his things from the coffee table and stuffs them into his jacket pocket. He stares at Louis with a look of disgust and then says coldly, “Don't know what I was fucking thinking, hooking up with a gutter rat like you.”

Kicking over the coffee table, he storms towards the door, turning to deliver one final blow as he leaves. “You’re pathetic, you know that? No wonder you’re alone on Christmas.” He slams the door as he exits, and the framed photos that Louis had managed to salvage when he’d been evicted from the place he and Harry had been living fall to the floor, the glass shattering.

Louis lays stunned on the couch, hands to his bleeding nose, his ears ringing with the slamming of the door. Suddenly, there’s a soft noise and he looks over to see his phone on the floor next to the overturned coffee table, halfway across the room. It lights up, and even from where he is on the couch, vision blurry with tears, he can read the text.

           **Harry: Happy birthday, Lou.**

Gasping at the sudden pain in his chest, Louis wonders wildly for a minute if he is having a heart attack. He’s almost hopeful that maybe this will be it and he can let go and just...stop, but after several heartbeats, he recognizes it for what it is: one more stabbing moment of grief, one more confrontation with his failures and losses. Overwhelmed and undone, he sinks back down onto the lumpy couch, and closes his eyes, letting the darkness take him under.

_Louis yawns and stretches, looking around the sunny bedroom. It’s exactly as he remembers, the same soft blue he’d painted it his junior year of high school, his childhood posters of Nirvana and David Beckham still on the wall. He’s confused for a moment, because after he’d gone to college, his mother had let Lottie move into his room, and she’d painted it purple. This room doesn’t exist anymore, except in memory. There’s light streaming in the window, his head aches, and he wonders how he got home. He hasn’t been here in months. And then, the door opens, and there’s Harry, and just like that, Louis’ heart breaks, because Harry hasn’t looked like that in a long time, hasn’t looked at him like that in so long. Harry is smiling sadly, and he comes over to the bed where Louis is lying, sitting carefully on the edge as if he knows how much Louis is hurting and doesn’t want to jostle him._

_“Louis,” is all he says, but Louis can hear in Harry’s voice all the love, the pain, the fear that Harry had felt. “Louis, baby.”_

_“You’re here,” Louis whispers. “You’re here, Harry. Oh God, I’ve missed you so much.”_

_Harry frowns. “Louis,” he says sternly, but with so much love that Louis can feel the tears threatening to fall. “You have to get your shit together, baby.”_

_He leans down and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek, who finds he can’t move, can’t reach out to hold onto Harry to make him stay, can only stare at him as Harry stands up and walks to the door. Before he goes, he turns and takes one last, long, devastated look at Louis._

_And then he’s gone, leaving Louis alone, whispering, “Don’t go, Harry. Please don’t go.”_

 

**December 25, 2014**

Louis comes to wakefulness with the feel of Harry’s kiss on his cheek, the sound of Harry’s voice in his ears, and the realization that his nose is almost certainly broken. The pain is sharp and unyielding as he gasps, rolling over, realizing he is still on the couch where he’d collapsed last night. He’s sobered up, and there’s nothing now that stands between him and the final understanding of what it was he’d actually lost when Harry had walked out the door that last time.

He pulls himself upright and stands, taking in the squalor of the apartment, all the evidence of the way he’s been living staring back at him. He looks over to the blank wall, sees Harry’s photographs on the floor and hears a hoarse, strangled cry. It takes him a moment to understand that it’s coming from him.

He moves quickly to the mess and kneels, heedless of the broken glass around him, as he turns the wreckage over. The frames are destroyed, but the photos are undamaged and he breaths a soft prayer of thanks. He’s lost so much, he can’t lose these too, the last tangible evidence he has that Harry was with him. That they’d had a life together, had built a home together. He’s lost so much, and just because it’s his own damn fault, it doesn’t mean he’s not breathless with the pain of it, finally seeing the enormity of the damage around him, the damage he himself has caused.

For one long, quiet moment, he sits and stares at the broken glass and thinks about how easy it would be to let his story end here. They won’t miss him, his family and friends. He could just become a footnote to the long and wonderful narratives that he hopes their lives will become. He could give up now, and who would blame him? No one, no one would blame him, if they really knew. And that’s when it hits him.

 _Harry._ Harry would blame him. Harry, who had loved him so much, _so well_ , until Louis had made it impossible for him to stay. Harry, who’d written letters, who’d called, who had tried, over and over again, who hadn’t stopped fighting until long after the fight was lost. Harry, who had come to him last night in that dream that hadn’t felt like a dream, that dream that had felt more real than most of the last 18 months of his life.

Kneeling amongst the shattered remains of the life he’d loved, the life that is over now, Louis takes a deep breath and picks up the phone. He dials, his hands shaking, and when the phone is answered, it takes him a moment to speak, so overcome with emotion at finally hearing the voice on the other end.

“Mom? It’s me. I need…” his voice cracks and breaks, and he takes a long, shuddering breath. “Mama, I need help.”

*****

His mother stays on the phone with him for hours, and Louis convinces her not to get in the car and drive up to see him immediately. They talk and talk, and Louis cries and apologizes, over and over again. Finally, the words seem to have dried up, and then his mother takes a hesitant breath and says, “I was just looking at something online, baby. There’s an AA meeting at 5 at St. Augustine’s. That’s just a few blocks from you, isn’t it? It’s a closed meeting, so it’s just people who have...an issue. I think you should go.”

Louis pauses, and laughs a bit bitterly. How on earth has it come to this, that he’s going to go to celebrate Christmas by going to an AA meeting? Because he is going to go, and he is going to shut his fucking mouth and listen to what these people have to say, because he’s finally coming to understand how truly lost he is, and has been for a long time now.

He hangs up the phone, feeling lighter, somehow. It feels almost as if something has shifted, sharpening his vision, as if he hadn’t even known how blind he was until now, now that he can see.

He grabs his things, taking one last look around the apartment. When he gets back from the meeting, he’ll do some cleaning. It’s time to get started.

He makes his way to the church and follows the people he sees walking around to the back, heading into what looks to be the Parish Hall. There’s about 20 people there, many of them greeting each other with hugs and smiles. He hunches his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets, feeling more awkward than he can remember. There are a few people standing around the coffee urn, and then a man looks up and sees him.

He walks over with a smile and, holding out his hand, says warmly, “Hey, man. I’m Gary. Are you here for the meeting?”

Barely recognizing his own voice, Louis nods and says, “Yeah. I’m Louis. Um, it’s my first time coming to one of these.”

Gary nods knowingly, and simply says, “Grab some coffee if you want some, and find a seat. We’ll be starting in a moment.”

Louis does as he suggests and sits, feeling the weight of eyes on him as he stares into his coffee, but when he looks up, he’s met only with gentle smiles, warm eyes, welcoming looks. There’s a woman sitting to the right of him, while the seat to his left remains empty.

The people gather in a large circle and then Gary speaks.

“Welcome to today’s meeting, everyone. This is a closed meeting for people who want to stop drinking. We’ll go around the circle and introduce ourselves.” He pauses and smiles. “Hi, I’m Gary. I’m an alcoholic.”

“I’m Marcy, I’m an alcoholic and coke addict.”

“I’m Angel, I’m an addict.”

“Hey guys, I’m Johann, and I have a problem with alcohol. Well, with life really, but I tried to solve it with booze.”

One after another, they speak, until it’s Louis’ turn.

He opens his mouth, and then, to his horror, his throat closes and tears burn at his eyes. He inhales on a sob, too overwhelmed even to feel embarrassed, and he feels the group simply sitting, waiting, witnessing as he struggles to regain control.

“I’m, I’m Louis,” he finally manages to gasp. “I’m Louis and I’m. I can’t do this anymore. Can you help me? Please,” he whispers. “Please help me.” He buries his face in his hands and sobs, and then, feeling movement beside him, looks up to see Gary sliding into the empty seat next to him.

“We can,” Gary says softly. “We can help you. If you’ll let us.” Then, he says softly, “Is it okay if I put  my hand on your shoulder, Louis?”

Louis holds his gaze and then nods. Gary reaches out and rests his hand on Louis’ shoulder, warm and comforting, the weight of it grounding him somehow, and Louis wonders why the touch of a stranger feels like the touch of a friend.

He raises his head and looks around at the group, where every single person is looking back at him. Not just with compassion, he sees now, but with acceptance and recognition. Like they know exactly how he’s feeling and then it hits him, and he feels almost foolish that he didn’t understand this earlier, because of course. _Of course_ they know how he’s feeling, because every single one of them has felt this too. Every single one of them had to start their journey somewhere, maybe in a chair just like this one, and now it’s his turn. Right here and right now.

It’s not hope that he’s feeling, he’s too empty, too wrung out for that. Rather, he feels a sense of anticipation, and beyond that, a prayer that maybe he will feel hope again one day.

“I’m Louis,” he says finally. “And I think...I think I’m an alcoholic.”

 

 _Man you wouldn't believe,_  
_the most amazing things,_  
_that can come from,_  
_Some terrible nights  
_ _“Some Nights” - Fun._

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [come say hi on Tumblr!](http://phd-mama.tumblr.com/) If you enjoyed this, the rest of my writing can be found here!
> 
> HUGE thank you to [lululawrence](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/)for the editing and the colon! HUGE thanks to [littlebabyruth](http://littlebabyruth.tumblr.com/) for the psych pick and to [letsjustee](https://letsjustsee.tumblr.com/) for the Tumblr post edit!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and if you feel so inspired, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, they all make my day brighter!
> 
> Even better, if you enjoyed this, please feel free to reblog the [Tumblr post](https://phd-mama.tumblr.com/post/160731886913/some-nights) here! Thanks!


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